Drowning In Duplicity aka DID
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: It's funny, it's sad, it's all over the place. It's like he's two different people. And sometimes, he is. Spoilers for Season Four. Warning for language. A one-shot in multiple parts. See? It's starting already. Just look at the genres. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

He stands outside her door, slumped against the wall—not the door, because he doesn't want to alert her to his presence, not yet, maybe not ever.

_Don't go in there. You can't go in there. You know you can't. _

_But, goddamn, I want to. I don't want to be alone right now. I _can't_ be alone right now._

He stares at her door, the 202 marking it as hers making him smile. It is the area code for the District. He wonders if they have ever discussed that, but he can't remember.

_And why is that? Huh? Why can't you remember?_

He looks down at his shoes as if the answers are written there, and he gasps in shock, a hand clamping over his mouth to stifle the noise. He listens intently for signs that she has heard him.

_What the hell are you doing? Run. Go. Now. _

He shoves off the wall, biting back a groan, and moves as fast he can for the stairs. He slinks down them—there is really no other word for it—and the pain is making him slow, but he's trying to hurry. He approaches his Mustang, feeling lower than the low-slung car. He hurriedly unclips his badge and gun and ditches one of his cells as quickly as possible.

_You do realize that would have been it, right? She opens the door, sees you standing there—if you could call that pained slouch "standing"—and then her eyes drop to the shiny badge, the damned _gun_ on your hip, and it's game over, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. _

_Professor Tony DiNardo gets obliterated in the blink of those pretty blue eyes of hers. _

He takes a moment to consider whether or not he cares about that and decides he does.

Very much.

So he looks back up at the building and tells himself not to go back inside even as his traitorous feet are moving toward the front doors.

_Stop. Think. _

_Tylenol? Ah, damn you evil marketing geniuses! _

_Stop. _

_Drop? Roll?_

_No wait… _

Nothing's on fire other than his damaged ribs.

And his fevered brain.

_You can't drive. You shouldn't have driven here. Call someone to come get you. Gibbs?_

_Ha. No, that would be even more dangerous, wouldn't it? _

_Jenny? No, don't let her see how close to stupid you got. _

_Are._

He finds himself at her door, staring into her face. _How did that happen? Oh well, I'm here. _

_And in need of a doctor. _

"Tony?" she asks.

_Which is silly because she knows who I am. _

_Oh. _

_Well, kind of. Not really. One of me. Whatever. _

Her voice is concern on a stick wrapped in buttery softness with a side of fear.

_No, wait. Film professor. Not food critic. That was option two—but you didn't look enough like that hog from the Post to snatch his identity. Not that identity-snatching is legal in this country. Ziva's maybe. But not this one. Not even for covert ops. _

_Speaking of covert, should I be talking? Could I just stay silent all night and pretend I'm on stealthy recon? _

_Speak, Anthony. _

_Well at least some things never change. _

"Hey, Jeanne."

Something is wrong with his words, and he wonders if he just said _"Hi, I'm Anthony DiNozzo, a federal agent dating you simply to gain information on your arms-dealer daddy."_

"_Have you heard the good news?"_

But he hasn't said any of that. Her gentle doctor's hands come up to his mouth and come away bloody, and he realizes what was wrong with his words: They didn't sound anything like real words—not in _any _of the languages Ziva knows.

He tries again, mostly because she is scared and he doesn't want to be the one to have put that fear into her young, beautiful eyes.

_Let her daddy do that. _

_Shut. Up. Anthony. _

His second attempt must be worse than the first because the words sound as mangled as the most recent victim of her most recent wood-chipper incident during an ER rotation. He wonders if there's more than one of those a month. A year?

_Don't call for a crash cart just yet, love. Only one of me is dead. _

_Jury's still out on which one. _

_Oh wait. Not a food critic, not a lawyer. _

_Good, Gibbs would hate me. _

_Oh. _

_Wait. _

"Come in, Tony," she is saying, her eyes deep wells of concern and he can't fathom why. "Let me take a look at you."

_Oh, that makes sense. She wants me. I'm a good-looking guy. I'm her type. That's why I'm here and not McGee, right? I'm charming, hot, irresistible. There's no way she wouldn't take the bait, jump at the chance to jump Anthony DiNozzo. And I'm a federal agent. Women love danger, right?_

_No, wait. _

_I'm Tony DiNardo and I've seen a good many action flicks, but I've never chased a bad guy, never fired a gun._

_There isn't a Sig in my car downstairs. _

_Pinkie swear._

He finds himself sitting on her couch, and she is crouched between his knees.

_Whoa. When did _that _happen?_

He looks down and sees they are fully clothed. He sees the bloody cloth in her hand and blinks, the pain rushing back at him, and he probably groans. He's not sure. He can't hear much over the ringing in his ears.

"Tony, you're scaring me. Answer me or I'm calling an ambulance."

Well, he damned sure heard _that._ "Ambulance" gets everyone's attention, DiNozzos and DiNardos alike.

"I love you."

His words are as puréed as his food will be if the dirtbag has actually broken his jaw.

DiNozzo and DiNardo both suddenly want a cheeseburger.

But she understands the mashed words. He realizes she's fluent in English, French _and _damaged-and-swollen. _Almost a match for Ziva._

_Stop _that _one right there. _

She smiles, the sunny expression breaking through her clouds of fear. "I love you, too," she says softly, wincing in tandem with him as her fingers ghost over his split lip in what he assumes is the medical version of a kiss. "But what happened, Tony? Who did this to you?"

_Lieutenant McRapist? No, that's not funny. And Tony DiNardo might love a good comedy, but he's not a raunchy comedian. Get your story straight. _

_All of them._

_Film professor. Not a food critic, not a lawyer, not a comedian. _

He wishes his foggy brain could flip on its usually reliable translator and turn "I was chasing a rape suspect who popped up behind me suddenly—probably because I was tired and couldn't focus—and beat the crap out of me" into something pretty.

Or at least something believable.

_But film professors don't get cracked in the ribs by stray pipes conveniently located in a seedy back alley near you._

"She looked like you."

"Who?" Jeanne asks after a moment—obviously having had to wait for her translator to spit out coherence from his mushy, bleeding attempt at communication.

"The rape victim."

Her eyes go wide and he realizes he _did_ say that one out loud.

_Backpedal_, is his first thought.

_Idiot, _is his close second.

_You can't backpedal from that. You're a good liar, DiNozzo—OBVIOUSLY, or you wouldn't be here now and she wouldn't think your name is DiNardo—so use it. Work with it. You've crafted something believable from the thin fabric of bad slips before. _

_But not with a concussion, a possible broken jaw, and definite broken ribs. _

_I know they're broken because I feel like I'm getting stabbed every time I breathe. Which is a lot. And I know what getting stabbed feels like because—_

"I'm calling the police."

_Aaaaannnndddd…._

_Welcome back, Tony DiNardo._

_Agent DiNozzo, you may exit stage left and let DiNardo take center stage now, thank you kindly. _

"Jeanne, I'm fine," he says, and he knows he sounds clearer. Not because he can actually hear himself over the roaring in his skull but because she takes much less time to scoff at his less-than-professional medical opinion.

_DiNardo, stop stealing DiNozzo's lines!_

"I'm okay," he tries again, and she reappears in front of him.

"You are not fine," she says, concern and fear still in her eyes. "Or okay."

He sees the fear is both _for _him and _of _him and he remembers his rapist slip.

"You're right," he says, letting the swelling in his split lip dominate his speech again. _Bastard. _"I'll tell you everything. Just kiss me first?"

She glares at him with those stunning blue eyes, and he's suddenly reminded of Gibbs. Which is really, really uncomfortable considering he was planning on screwing her out of her questions.

_Now there's one that fits either DiNozzo or DiNardo. _

_The screwing. _

_Not the Gibbs. _

_Possibly the bastard._

"This is one time you will not distract me with that, Tony," she says, but he sees her fear of him has lifted the tiniest bit.

_It's working, keep going, keep thinking. _

_Goddamn, I'm so tired. _

_And it hurts._

"A girl was attacked on campus earlier tonight," he says, Rule No. 7—_Be specific when you lie—_flashing in bright, painful neon in both DiNozzo's and DiNardo's head, though he can't figure out how that's possible.

_DiNardo's never even met Gibbs. I keep them separated like unruly cousins at a family reunion from hell. _

"I stopped the guy. But not before he tried to stop me. From breathing."

"Oh, Tony!"

_My hero?_

She hugs him, and he gasps sharply in pain, his injured ribs shrieking as his mouth wants to.

But he's fairly certain neither DiNozzos nor DiNardos shriek.

"I'm sorry," she says, pulling back and looking into his anguished eyes. Her hand comes to rest on his aching side and he tries not to cry out again at the gentle contact. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

_Me neither. _

"Come on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

_Oh hell no._

_Yeah, that was definitely DiNozzo. _

_But for more reasons than one. _

_First, I hate hospitals, whoever I am. I'm still me. Right? _

_Right?_

_Second, if you decide to take me to any hospital other than the one you work in, the ER staff might recognize me. DiNozzo's a player. He gets around. _

_Third, I can't remember if we made up a medical history for Professor DiNardo while we were playing choose-your-own-identity. Hide and go speak? Ring around the poser? Hopscotch? Mmmm, scotch. _

_No wait…._

"I saw the paramedic who tended to the girl," he says.

She believes him. He wonders if it's because he _has _seen a doctor. He thanks all things holy that one of him has the presence of mind to not admit he just came from the hospital. And that Gibbs had let him go to one in the city instead of driving all the way out to Bethesda, which is all the way out in Maryland. Okay, so it's really not that far, mileage-wise, but it's a Friday night and that twenty miles from the District means an hour in snarled traffic.

The Wizards are playing tonight and that's going to make it worse. DiNozzo cares, but DiNardo—like ninety-five percent of the District's inhabitants—doesn't. Unless Gilbert Arenas is brandishing guns again tonight as the half-time show. DiNozzo's foggy head remembers they call Arenas "Agent Zero" and he wonders if he knows him professionally.

_But if I was at the hospital, why don't I know if my jaw is broken? I distinctly remember getting x-rays. Gibbs blocked the door so I couldn't escape while the tech took them. He even wore one of those funny little guards that protect … Gibblets. I wanted so badly to make a joke, but it hurt too much to talk at that point._

_I'm sure Gibbs enjoyed the silence. _

_But why didn't I stick around for the results? _

_Because you got pissed at something—someone?—and signed yourself out AMA. _

_Because you're Anthony DiNozzo. _

_Not right now you're not. We've been over this. You're Tony DiNardo tonight. _

_Did you take painkillers, by chance?_

_That would explain my ability to speak even though it feels like someone is prying the words from my mouth with a crowbar. _

"And I told him I had a doctor waiting for me," he says, smiling. Or trying to. From the look on her face, the result is less GQ and more MVA. Either way, it makes him remember his jaw might be broken.

_Who the hell forgets that kind of thing? _

He doesn't have an answer for himself, but he figures neither DiNozzos nor DiNardos should ever forget something like that. Or Joneses. Or Wallaces. Or Smiths.

But maybe Gibbses.

Just maybe.

"Tony," she says patiently, as if she's talking to a two-year-old. He wonders what age they picked for Tony DiNardo, but he's pretty sure it's over two. Over twenty-one, he hopes, or else he might have to arrest himself for underage drinking.

He remembers she's talking and tries to pay attention.

"You're really spacey, Tony," she is saying.

"I don't look anything like Kevin Spacey."

She glares at him—gently.

_Hmmm, I thought that was something only Gibbs could pull off. _

_Shut. Up. Anthony. _

_There is no Gibbs. Not when you're with her. _

_Well that doesn't seem fair. _

He realizes he's made another mistake and he backpedals. Like that time he mentioned something funny the Probie had said while parked in a Probie-free zone. And he'd said something about alien abductions and sounded like he'd been abducted himself—and had his brain vacuumed out with cleaners that would put even a Dyson to shame. But she had bought it.

_So sell it, DiNardo. _

_Film professor. Not a food critic, not a lawyer, not a comedian, not a salesman. _

"Ha, just kidding," he says. "I'm sorry. But I'm really okay. My head just hurts and I'd like to go to bed."

"That's because you have a concussion," Dr. Jeanne says. "I'm really worried about you. You should have a CT scan."

"Or you can wake me up every couple of hours and give me very in-depth concussion checks," he hints suggestively.

She bites down on a smile. But then she frowns again, her doctor's eyes—which are her regular eyes, only smarter, harder—watch his chest rise and fall jerkily because of the pain. "And your breathing is off. A little wheezy."

_That's because I had the pneumonic plague. _

_LIKE HELL YOU DID. _

_Not unless the good Professor DiNardo has been to a seriously long-distance film conference—and no university is shelling out the cash to send a professor back to the Middle Ages. _

"I think I might have cracked a rib."

_Truth? Is that you?_

_Nope. Because I know I did. The doctor at the hospital I didn't go to said I did. He could feel it. _

_That made Gibbs mad, for some reason. _

"Tony," she says, his name an admonishment. "Let's get you into the bathroom where I'll have some light to look at you."

He stands, swaying gently like a sock on a summer clothesline. If he closes his eyes, he can feel the sun shining down on his shoulders.

Or he could fall over.

But then her arms are around him, and he buries his face in her neck and wants to stay there forever.

"There's nothing I can do to make you go to the hospital?" she asks softly, feeling him shaking in her arms.

_Not a thing, _Anthony DiNozzo thinks.

"Not a thing," Tony DiNardo says.

He feels her sigh. "You are damned lucky I'm a doctor, Tony."

_You have no idea, Jeanne. _


	2. Chapter 2

She helps him down the hallway, matching his slow pace, and she is reminded of her rotation on the geriatric floor. But she keeps this to herself, knowing he wouldn't appreciate her comments. And she doesn't want to hurt him. He's hurting enough already.

And even though she knows he's badly injured and should be in a hospital, she lets him stay. Not simply because she is a doctor and knows he isn't dying—though he probably feels like he is—but because she is seeing something different in him tonight and she feels like she needs to understand it.

And it's not just the vulnerability she's never seen in him before.

"Here, sit," she says, levering him down onto the cold edge of the bathtub so he sits directly under the bright light.

Her hands are slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and he can think only of sex.

And Ducky.

The thoughts are so shocking that they threaten to split DiNozzo/DiNardo straight down the middle.

He shoves away thoughts of the gentle doctor helping him unbutton his shirt that time he nearly got killed when that car blew up and focuses on thoughts of the gentle doctor unbuttoning his shirt right now. It's not hard when she gasps as the shirt falls away and reveals the livid bruises on his side.

Anthony DiNozzo feels an odd pride at making a doctor gasp at his apparently awesome bruising.

Tony DiNardo feels his heart clench as he realizes she is feeling his pain. She's hurt because he's hurt. And she doesn't like to see him suffer.

Her hands gently hurt him as she prods the broken ribs, but she apologizes and looks at him with such tenderness and sympathy that he doesn't mind.

He never wants her to stop touching him.

In a way, he knows she never will.

DiNozzo is feeling uncomfortable with the intense emotions and might do something stupid.

DiNardo says, "Thank you, Jeanne. I knew you had a good bedside manner, but this…"

He expects her to smile but she just frowns, her eyes on the bruises staining the delicate arch of his ribcage. "Tony," she breathes, the worry back in her eyes—as if it had ever left, he notices. "What did the guy hit you with?"

"A baseball bat."

The lie falls from his lips, and he feels suddenly ashamed at the ease with which it slipped free.

Maybe the blood lubricated its path.

And DiNozzo is doing shtick in their head again.

_Bravo! That makes sense. Baseball bats do happen to be pipe-shaped. _

_Or are pipes baseball-bat-shaped? _

_Either way. Well done, good sir! _

Her fingers are prodding his lip now, and he wants to kiss her even though it will hurt. He feels fear grab hold of his heart, squeezing it tighter than the pain choking his breath, and he realizes he is afraid he's going to mess this up and this will be his last night with her.

He wonders why that hurts so much.

He always knew there would be a last night, right?

Right?

"This needs stitches," she says, wondering where this dark intensity in his eyes has come from.

Anyone else would have read it as pain, but she has seen pain. She's seen all kinds of pain in her life: physical, psychological, emotional, faked. She has seen it all.

But never this.

So she doesn't read it as pain even though she got it right in one.

"No thanks," he says, his words still gloppy and gooey. "I hate needles."

_Sounds true enough. Most everyone I know hates needles. Except maybe Abby. _

_But DiNardo doesn't know Abby._

_Screw that. Everyone should know Abby. _

He sees the moment she gives up, knowing it's a battle she won't win. At least not right now.

She stands, and she helps him up, locking a small arm around his waist, looping it low to keep the pressure off his damaged ribs. He leans heavily on her, and the doctor in her head screams at her that she's being stupid.

And something about malpractice, but she shoves that away.

They make it halfway down the hall before he has to stop, slumping against the wall and struggling just to breathe through the pain. She can practically _see_ the dizziness in his eyes and it's no trick they taught her in medical school.

"Tony, this is crazy," she says. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No," he barks, and it is a tone she has never heard from him before. He sounds angry, and she can't for the life of her figure out why.

But the darkness is back in his eyes and she almost lets it drop.

Almost.

"Tony—"

"No, Jeanne," he says firmly, and she's impressed with the force he puts into the words even as he's gasping, his arms wrapped tightly around himself protectively. She looks down and sees he has disentangled his body from hers, and she wonders how he did that without her noticing. "I don't do hospitals. End of story."

She looks like she's going to press it, and he thinks wildly.

_Do whatever you have to. You can't go to a hospital with her. No way. Trot out whatever demons you must. Pull a dead uncle, cousin, brother, mother, father, sister from thin air. Pull their corpse straight out of the imaginary ground. Hell, pull out the big guns if you really think you need to in order to get her to drop this. _

_Kill a fake child. _

_It won't feel a thing. _

"All right, Tony," she says softly and leads him to her bed even though a tiny part of her is screaming at her to stop. To notice that his eyes are no longer his. That they have been captured by some dark demon who is not the Tony she thinks she knows.

But people in pain are not always themselves.

She knows this.

She is a doctor, after all.

It takes her a while to get him undressed—a lot longer than normal, that is. Their clothes usually end up in heaps that need sorting like laundry the following morning. Or afternoon.

But her struggle tonight is different.

Right now, she's mostly trying not to hurt him.

And she does a good job at it—just like she's doing a good job pretending she's not a doctor so her professional worry won't make her anger and upset her lover by insisting he go to a hospital.

_It's funny how I can just partition my brain like that,_ she thinks.

She finally manages to get him into bed, but she knocks his cell to the floor, and when she sets it on the nightstand, she notices his eyes widen upon seeing it. He looks at it like he's arachnophobic and it suddenly just sprouted eight hairy legs.

"What is it?" she asks, driving spikes of fear through his face. She looks worried, and he wonders if he's bleeding again. "Tony?"

He closes his eyes.

_Just pesky DiNardo stealing DiNozzo's cell and placing it on his secret lover's bedside table. _

_With all of his secrets tucked inside. _

_Shit. I have goddamn Metro Homicide programmed into that thing. _

_Just how the hell are you going to explain that? Are you writing a book, DiNardo? Do you need it for research? You could ask the Probie for advice, and—_

_Oh, wait._

_Better question: Is she the jealous type? Will she go through it while you're asleep? Will she confront you when you wake, concussion-dazed and groggy, and demand to know who this Gibbs is and why he calls you so often? And at three in the morning? _

"Hurts," he whispers, trying to distract the good doctor from what he knows was panic on his battered face. He just hopes the bruising will have made the expression as murky as his brain feels.

She looks down at him for a moment, debating.

It makes him wonder if he should fear for his life as well as his heart.

She is an arms dealer's daughter, after all.

"I shouldn't do this," she says finally. "But I've got some leftover painkillers I can give you."

She gets up and crosses to the bathroom door. "Are you allergic to anything?"

_DiNardo? Are you?_

_Oh wait._

_Same body._

_Let DiNozzo answer. _

_But keep it to one word, please. _

"Nope."

_Good boy. _

Thoughts of painkillers make him remember he still doesn't remember leaving the hospital.

But he remembers being there. Remembers feeling cold as he stripped off his blood-stained shirt with a wince and a joke about ruined Armani to cover his real pain. But he can't remember who is with him. He thinks back, trying really hard—but it's exhausting. And he's exhausted.

It seems all he does these days is try really hard.

He's suddenly in the exam room again, though, and he sees that it is Gibbs with him. In an impressive arrangement of facial features, the lead agent looks annoyed and concerned all at the same time; and DiNozzo knows Gibbs is looking at his bruised ribs but seeing his stupid probie mistake of letting the dirtbag get behind him.

DiNozzo doesn't apologize because even though being in a hospital is making him want to revert to DiNardo, DiNozzo will never forget Rule No. 6: _Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness._

But considering the weakness in his knees he remembers feeling when Gibbs looped an impossibly gentle arm around him to help him in here, he wonders if it's okay.

Gibbs opens his mouth, and DiNozzo tells DiNardo to take cover.

But all Gibbs asks is another impossibly gentle, "How ya feeling, DiNozzo?"

He wonders if Gibbs is the one who has forgotten himself, forgotten who he is.

His thoughts return to the present as she returns with water and sweet mercy in pill form, and he swallows both without caring about the consequences.

DiNozzo might take a hard left into Crazytown while on the narcotic wagon, but maybe DiNardo's different.

_Isn't that what you've been hoping this whole time?_

She is suddenly tucked against the undamaged side of his body, and suddenly he wants her.

Bad.

But he can't have her.

_Ya think?_

He really needs to stop hearing Gibbs' voice in moments like this.

DiNozzo's going to start thinking there's something hinky going on with DiNardo.

But all both of them can feel now is icy-hard pain melting away under the intensity of sunny-strong painkillers—and her body. Her leg is draped over his thigh, her hand cradling the side of his neck as if to stabilize it.

In a last moment of lucidity, he realizes her thumb is pressed to his split lip, trying to stop the bleeding.

_That can't be right. _

_Film professors don't bleed in doctors' beds. _


	3. Chapter 3

It's been an hour, and the doctor in her wants to wake him again, ask him where he is, when it is, and if he knows who he is. But the lover in her wants to let him sleep, to keep him away from the pain. Her hand finds his broken ribs again, and she prods gently, making sure they haven't shifted and aren't in danger of stabbing like self-guided knives through his heart or lungs. He doesn't stir, doesn't make a sound, and her soft, skilled hands move to his jaw as she sits up next to him. She pokes and prods and manipulates the joint until she is as satisfied as she can be without x-ray vision that it is not broken.

She wishes he were awake to give her a long lecture about the uses of x-ray vision as metaphor in film.

Her hands move through his hair and she is having a hard time separating doctor and lover—until she finds the lump of swelling at the back of his head responsible for his concussion symptoms.

She thinks about waking him and asking him again to go to the hospital, hoping the painkillers and sleep will have lowered the defenses she hadn't realized he had.

It makes her wonder what else about him she doesn't know.

His cell vibrates on the table beside her, and her gaze flicks from his sleeping face to the name on the phone's display.

Gibbs.

She has never heard of this Gibbs person and Tony needs to rest so she reaches over and silences the phone. He jerks in his sleep as if burned by contact with some searing nightmare, and she flinches in surprise, dropping the phone. It bounces on the carpet and pops open, but her attention is on him and his sudden writhing.

She lets a gentle hand fall feather-light and puppy-soft onto his cheek and murmurs, "Shhh, it's okay, Tony. You're okay."

He reaches up and captures her hand, tucking it against his body as he curls his arm to his chest, and she forgets the phone for a long while.

Until it vibrates again, its buzzing as insistent as an alarm clock.

She disentangles herself from his warmth and reaches down for the phone, blinking in surprise at the nine missed calls.

This Gibbs person apparently has the persistence of an alarm clock, too.

The multiple calls make her wonder if this is the demanding boss he has hinted at on occasion—and what kind of emergency film professors have that would require this many attempts at contact. And then she remembers the rape occurred on campus. She briefly debates hitting the send button and letting this Gibbs person know Tony is injured but in the care of a doctor.

Had DiNozzo been awake, the mere thought of that call—which would likely have been short because Gibbs would unfailingly answer with a barked "Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?"—would have been enough to stop the hearts of both DiNozzo and DiNardo.

She wonders if he's told his boss—or his coworkers or friends—about her, and that makes her realize that she's never met anyone close to him. She hasn't even been to his apartment.

But before she can dwell on that too long, the phone buzzes again in her hand, and she sneaks a glance at the man sleeping beside her and answers it, hoping he won't be too upset.

"Hello?" she answers tentatively, banishing sudden fears that Gibbs is a woman—another lover.

"DiN— Hello?" comes the decidedly male voice.

"This is Jeanne," she says, feeling an excited thrill to be connecting with a yet-unknown part of his life. She suddenly feels like a spelunker.

Gibbs thinks for a moment, trying to remember if Tony ever told him his girlfriend's name. _Who the hell else would be answering his phone at one in the morning? _

"My name is Jethro," he says, matching her informality and keeping the bite out of his voice. In truth, he's happy for Tony, thinking it's about time the man found someone to share his life with—someone to lower his walls for. Gibbs isn't thrilled with the fact that Tony drags himself into work most days looking dead tired, but he understands it.

Even if he doesn't want to think about the why.

Those are images he can do without.

"I'm Tony's boss," Gibbs says, wondering if she knows that.

_He has a boss named Jethro_, she thinks, gathering the little bits of information she has about her lover around her like treasured trinkets. _He had a tree in his backyard that he liked to climb, and he has a very interesting scar from a run-in with a horse. _She should realize now that he shares very little with her, but she's blinded by the shiny newness of her latest acquisition.

"Is he with you?" Jethro asks.

"Yes, he is," she says, wondering if he knows about the rape on campus. _He's his boss so he probably does. _"He's sleeping right now."

"That might not be such a good idea," Gibbs says, thinking about how pale and shaky Tony had been before he snuck out of the hospital, presumably pissed off because Ziva had made two cracks in quick succession about Tony's getting his ass kicked and about his personal cell phone.

Gibbs knows Tony uses that cell only for his girlfriend, and the lead agent can understand that. He'd had a wife who liked it when he kept the job separated from home. He didn't think Tony was the type to care about things like that, but maybe he did it for the girl.

_So Jethro knows he's injured_, Jeanne thinks, putting on her best smile even though the man can't see her. "It's all right. I'm a doctor."

Gibbs breathes a sigh of relief at that, wondering if Tony had ever mentioned it before. He realizes Tony hasn't really said much at all about his girlfriend, odd in itself because Tony usually couldn't keep his mouth shut on the topic of his various women.

_But this one is different. Apparently she's someone special. _

"How is he?" Gibbs asks, hoping she won't ask why he doesn't know—if she doesn't already know why. He suddenly finds himself not wanting to get Tony in trouble with her by ratting him out about fleeing the hospital. DiNozzo's in enough trouble with him on that as it is.

But she slips into doctor mode and says, "Broken ribs, concussion, split lip could probably use a stitch or two, but he wouldn't let me do it."

"He's a bit stubborn when it comes to his health, isn't he?"

She grins, happy to be sharing a moment with someone who obviously knows Tony well. She wonders if it would be too forward to ask Jethro over for dinner one night. Academics do that sort of thing all the time. "That he is. He should probably be in a hospital, but considering he's with me, I guess it's not worth fighting him over."

_And if I hadn't been dealing with a half-hysterical Abby, he still would be in a hospital. _

But he doesn't say that because he doesn't know if this woman knows Abby and it would take too long to explain all the nuances of a scared, upset Abby.

"Especially since I don't want to make him talk with his jaw that bad," she continues. "I'm pretty sure it's not broken, but I think I'll try again in the morning to get him to go to the hospital with me."

_That answers that, _Gibbs thinks, wondering what pretty lies DiNozzo crafted for her so as not to scare or anger her and knowing Tony had the requisite skill set to pull it off. _And his jaw is badly bruised but not broken, _he adds silently but keeps his mouth shut. This girl obviously means a lot to Tony, and Gibbs isn't going to get him in trouble with her just to applaud her doctoring skills—not that he would do either anyway.

"I'd appreciate that," is all he says. He almost hangs up but remembers just in time that this has become as much a social call as a professional one. "Thank you. Good night."

"Good night," she says, hanging up and frowning. _Forgot to ask him to dinner_. _Oh well, I'll just ask Tony about it in the morning. _

Tony chooses that exact moment to start to stir in his sleep, as if he had heard her disastrous thoughts. He sits bolt upright, all pain forgotten as his hands fly to his face to get the blood off—real and imaginary.

"Kate!"

She abandons the phone and grabs his hands before he hurts himself with the way he's clawing at the reopened wound in his lip and the blood dripping down his chin. He's staring at her with wide eyes.

"Get it off, please get it off," DiNozzo whispers before DiNardo can manhandle the agent out of the driver's seat and take over.

She disappears in a hurry, and he feels terror very different from that of the nightmare grip him hard. But then she's back, sitting cross-legged in bed beside him with a soft cloth and a small suture kit.

He eyes the kit, wondering if all doctors have them stashed away in their homes and figuring they probably do. Who doesn't bring work home from time to time? DiNardo brings DVDs and DiNozzo brings bruises, so why shouldn't she have needles made to quilt flesh next to her rose-scented deodorant?

"Didn't know you were into S&M," he comments, wincing not at the sharp instrument coming so very close to his mouth but because that sounded a little more DiNozzo than DiNardo and he's still shaky from the dream.

But she just smiles wryly at him. "Open your mouth and shut up," she says, her words as gentle as her hands.

" 'At's 'inda 'ontra'icto'y," he says.

"What?" she asks with a soft, confused smile as she carefully closes his mouth.

"That's kinda contradictory," he repeats, glad for the painkillers that have reduced his agony to a completely bearable soft thrum of achiness. DiNardo pushes loopy DiNozzo down into a dark recess and gags him. "Opening one's mouth and shutting up."

She smiles at him. "Shhh, and open up," she says, her small, deft hands making quick work of the trio of stitches she uses to close his wound.

"There," she says, stowing her kit and curling up beside him.

"Barely felt a thing," he says, settling contentedly back and enjoying the feel of her warm body tucked against his. "Care to rectify that?"

_Back to your corner, DiNozzo. Don't make me call your mother. _

_She's dead, DiNardo. Go ahead and try. I don't think your long-distance plan quite covers that. And good luck waking her "without some serious smelling salts and a heater." _

_Ah, "Good Will Hunting," nice one, DiNozzo. Now shut up. _

"You're impossible, Tony," she says, a bit surprised he can laugh and joke like this after what must have been a seriously scary experience earlier. But maybe this is just how he deals. _Whatever works. I'm here for you. _

They lie there, their quiet, still contact all either of them really needs at the moment. She thinks he may be asleep, and she asks in a whisper she's not sure if she means for him to hear.

"Who's Kate?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Who's Kate?"

She feels him flinch and knows it's not from the kind of pain she's spent her life's work tending to.

"It's okay," she says softly, meaning it. "You don't have to tell me."

_Okay, fantastic, _DiNozzo thinks.

_Not good enough_, DiNardo shoots back. _Lie. And come up with something good. _

But DiNozzo doesn't lie. He simply can't do that to Kate.

"She was my friend. I was there when she died."

_Please, please don't ask me how. Please don't. _

"And she also annoyed the living hell out of me," he adds with a crooked half-smile when she opens her mouth to speak. His voice goes quiet and wistful, and _he's_ not even sure if he's lying now. "I might have loved her. But she was too much like the little sister I never had."

_Is that the right answer, Alex? In the category of Painful Half-truths for $1000. For my life, my job, my heart. Please tell me it is. That seems like an awful lot to lose. _

_So why are you putting it all on the line?_

_Oh hell. I told her I'm an only child, right? Why would I lie about that? _

_Why would I lie at all? _

"I'm sorry, Tony," is all she says.

"Thank you, Jeanne."

More silence. More sweet, blissful silence.

And he realizes that as much as he loves talking with her, as much as he loves her voice, sharing her thoughts, he loves their sweet silences more.

Because he can just _be. _

He can be Anthony DiNozzo in those silences and it's okay because she won't know the difference. She doesn't know DiNozzo's affinity for masks, his need to fill silences with inanity to keep people from looking at him too closely. And she can look all she wants.

Because when she looks at a silent Anthony DiNozzo, she sees Tony DiNardo.

And that's just fine with them.

"Your boss called," she says, stopping his heart as if penance to the devil for all those she has restarted with her bare hands.

He gets lucky this time because she moves her hand as she says it and mistakes his choked cry of panic for pain.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, pressing soft lips against his side. "Did I hurt your ribs?"

_Hurt DiNardo's ribs, stopped DiNozzo's heart… What's the difference, really? They're all in close proximity anyway. _

"It's okay," he says and he knows he sounds strangled even though she's not freaking out and demanding to know just who the hell he is.

He's glad for that because he's not really sure anyway.

His mind is racing as fast as the pulse he hopes she can't see throbbing away like a jackhammer in his throat. _Maybe Gibbs ratted my flight from the hospital to Jenny and she got someone to call me and pretend to be my boss from the university because they're all worried. That makes sense, right? _

_No, what makes sense is Gibbs getting McGee to trace my cell and then coming to find me himself. _

_To kill me. _

_At least I won't have to worry about an arms dealer slowly taking me apart when he finds out I'm a federal agent who's been sleeping with his daughter. _

_Oh, shit. McGee tracing calls would mean Gibbs and McGee and probably Ziva would know. _

_And if Gibbs talked to Jeanne, then Jeanne might know, too. _

_Why can't I figure out which one of those options is worse? _

Suddenly, the hospital scene returns to his fuzzy head and he remembers all of his pain and exhaustion and his anger at Ziva's mocking. And his decision to leave before the painkillers split his head open and spilled his secrets.

He had known since watching Gibbs wincing with sympathy at his bruises and softly asking him if he was okay in that exam room that bad things were about to happen. Or had already happened.

Those were, after all, the only times nice-Gibbs reared his terrifying silver head.

And Tony knew that he had wanted to use Gibbs' out-of-personality experience to shed his disguises and spill the entire op right then and dizzy there.

And damn the consequences.

Maybe Gibbs would even get down on his hands and knees to help him pick up the shattered pieces of DiNozzo and DiNardo, and help him weave them into something whole.

And those were dangerous thoughts.

But it turned out he was saved by the belle—the Goth Southern belle, but she had a parasol so he figures that's accurate enough.

He had never been so glad to see a panicking Abby in his whole life. He had been pathetically grateful for her wide, tear-filled eyes studying the livid evidence of violence on his skin.

Because he had known where Gibbs' attention would land with those two targets in sight.

Scared Abby was the center of the bull's-eye every time.

_Hey, this is the present calling. Come back before Einstein gets pissed about you bending the laws of time and space, okay? _

_Shut up, DiNozzo. You're the idiot who brought your cell into the realm of DiNardo and started this mess. _

_Oh, right, it was his, wasn't it? _

_So Gibbs called DiNozzo's cell and talked to Jeanne. _

_And the world hasn't imploded. _

_He felt the overwhelming need tempered only by broken ribs—and sweet sanity—to roll over and check his back for knives similar to the ones he often sees sticking from between her shoulder blades when she turns just right. _

_But apparently DiNardo's luckier than DiNozzo. _

_We'll take it, either way. _

"So my boss called?" he asks, and is shocked that he sounds perfectly normal. DiNardo decides he loves painkillers.

"Mmmm," she says, and he realizes how late it is. How tired she must be. "He just wanted to check on you. He sounded worried."

_Okay, definitely not Gibbs. What the hell? _

_But Jenny wouldn't have anyone call, you drugged, dazed idiot. She has no idea what lies you told Jeanne to explain the injuries. _

_Welcome back, DiNozzo. _

_But seriously, go away._

"Really?" he can't help asking.

_Shut up. Just shut up. She's not trying to kill you so she obviously doesn't know. Maybe Gibbs knows, but you can't do anything about that right now so just shut up and take one thing at a time. _

_Be glad she's not going to kill you. _

_Unless she's waiting for you to go back to sleep._

He had forgotten that he was undercover when he was with her, forgotten why, really. Realized he had been forgetting that a lot lately. That she was a soft pawn in a hard game, and he had to be careful, had to be on alert at all times.

"He's not much of a worrier," Tony says when she doesn't answer him.

Her eyes open slowly and he thinks she must have dropped off.

_Shut up. _

"Well, his words weren't really worried," she says sleepily, but now she's thinking. "But there was just this undertone, I guess, that made me think he was worried."

_Okay, definitely Gibbs then. _

"I should probably give him a call," he says, fighting that idea with what's left of his depleted stores of energy.

But he disentangles from her sleeping body anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Getting up is more of an adventure than simply becoming upright ever should be.

And he remembers he got the shit kicked out of him earlier. His current exhaustion reminds him of his former—the reason for the shit-kicking—and he wonders how Gibbs hasn't noticed that his senior agent looks so dead tired most days that Tony's surprised Abby hasn't offered him her coffin yet. Gibbs' eyesight might not be the greatest, but he's got the best radar in the District. And he isn't one to tolerate weakness.

DiNozzo feels an icicle of dread begin a slow melt down his spine.

_Does he know? Did Jenny tell him?_

_Has he known all along? _

_No way. _

_And stop that. Less thinking. More moving. _

_At this rate, you might as well skip that phone call because Gibbs will have retired (again) by the time you get out of earshot. _

An arm tucked around his left side, his lip firmly between his teeth to keep from groaning and waking his sleeping lover—_mark?—_he stands on legs so shaky he fears he's invented a new dance move. He waits a moment for the room to stop spinning like a merry-go-round from hell and makes his way to the bathroom.

DiNozzo tells him to get his ass down the hall and out of her hearing in case she wakes.

But DiNardo's in pain and tells his tactical support to can it. Immediately, if not sooner, because he has a headache from the concussion, remember?

_Ha, no. I forgot. _

_Could be the concussion._

He leans against the vanity because he's not sure if he'll be able to get up from anywhere lower but simply remaining vertical is quickly becoming a challenge. So the counter seems like a nice middle ground.

_Ah, middle ground. The space between. I'd forgotten all about you. _

_Less thinking. More calling. _

He looks down at the cell in his hand and almost throws up.

He tells himself it's the head injury.

_Why are you even calling, again? Does this make sense? For DiNozzo? For DiNardo? DiNardo doesn't even know Gibbs. But DiNozzo does. Really _knows_ him. And if you don't call, he's going to start tracing cells and breaking down doors. _

_But he talked to Jeanne. Maybe it's okay. _

_Ha. _

_Right. _

_Maybe he didn't spook her, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know. _

_I should definitely wait. _

_But what's one more night to live if it's going to be spent in agony? _

_Maybe he'll just shoot me and put me out of my misery. _

_Works for lame horses. _

_There's an Italian stallion joke in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to find it. _

He stares down at the phone in his hand like he's afraid it might attack. And he realizes he _is _scared. Not that Gibbs will actually hurt him. He knows that won't happen.

But something much, much worse might.

He might lose the respect of the one man whose opinion actually matters.

_Less thinking. More dialing. _

_Much, much more praying._

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?"

_First ring. And it's 3 a.m. This is either really good or really bad._

_Maybe he really does care if I'm okay?_

_Maybe he's crafting ways to murder me without getting caught. He should call Abby. _

_I should stay away from Abby._

"DiNozzo?"

_Don't call me that. Are you crazy? _

_Oh wait. _

_It would be much, much more terrifying if you called me DiNardo. _

"Tony. Answer me. Are you all right?"

"Gibbs?"

If he listens carefully, he can _hear_ Gibbs counting to ten. DiNozzo waits for the explosion of the Gibbs time-bomb, but DiNardo isn't surprised by the words.

DiNardo is, after all, learning how to have a heart.

"You sound confused, Tony," Gibbs says softly. "You called me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says automatically, Gibbs' voice calling DiNozzo immediately out of hiding.

Gibbs sighs. "What did I tell you about that word?"

_Beats me,_ DiNozzo thinks. _Maybe you told DiNardo. He's terrible at taking messages. _

_Film professor. Not a food critic, not a lawyer, not a comedian, not a salesman. Most definitely NOT a receptionist. _

"Tony," Gibbs says, and DiNozzo wonders where he bought the patience—and hopes he purchased in bulk. "Crawl out of that banged-up head of yours and talk to me. You have to actually speak to have a conversation."

"Why? You don't."

Wince. Flinch. Gag?

But Gibbs just barks a laugh. "I guess that's true enough. At least you know who I am."

_All right, who are you and what have you done with my boss? Kidnapping an NCIS agent is a federal offense, you know. _

_I should charge DiNardo._

"Yeah, someone who's really, really pissed at me," DiNozzo says, pulling the control away from DiNardo even though neither of them thinks it's a great idea. DiNardo obviously handles his painkillers better.

But his ribs have gone from achy to stabby in the short time he's been up and moving so maybe they're wearing off. He remembers he's upright, decides it really sucks, and drops none too gracefully onto the side of the tub again, barely stopping himself from falling in.

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs says, sounding exasperated. But then softer: "But we'll get to that."

_Better hurry, _DiNozzo thinks, his vision going blurry. He braces his arms on his thighs and tries to concentrate.

"Is Jeanne still with you?" Gibbs asks.

The simple act of that name falling from those lips is enough to send DiNozzo's pulse through the roof. He tries to breathe and finds he can't, but it has nothing to do with the pain knifing him in the ribs on every gasped inhalation. "Yeah," he manages to wheeze.

And prepares himself for the onslaught.

"Good," Gibbs says, his tone changing ever so slightly.

_Here we go. Prepare for bloodbath in 3… 2… _

"And you're damned right I'm pissed at you, Tony," Gibbs says, having apparently bought only a single serving of patience.

But if DiNardo weren't sliding to the floor and trying to drag DiNozzo down to the land of the unconscious, Tony probably would have noticed Gibbs' use of his first name and saved himself a lot of panic.

But he didn't.

So he panics when Gibbs growls, "It's insane what you're doing. And stupid and reckless."

"But she—" Tony says, wanting to argue that Jenny's the director and he's just following orders.

"I don't care who she is," Gibbs cuts him off, his voice rising even though Tony had barely whispered. He wonders if he's trying not to wake her, and while he's glad the woman is a doctor, Gibbs is still seeing the bruises on Tony's side, still feeling him shake as he helped him into that exam room. So he says, "You shouldn't be there."

"But I—" _am on an assignment. An assignment I took because I was feeling shaky after you came back from Mexico and demoted me with no more than a "What?" for an explanation. Because I wanted to prove to you, to McGee, to the director, that I'm good enough. _

But Gibbs doesn't give him a chance to say any of that.

"Didn't think?" he supplies, but he hears the pain Tony's words and he softens his tone. He thinks of the anguish in Tony's eyes when Ziva was needling him when she should have just left him alone. "I know what happened, Tony, and I know what she said. But you should have come to me."

_You have no idea how many times I've wanted to tell you. _

Tony's head is in his free hand, and he's staring at the floor, feeling completely miserable. He starts trying to formulate an apology in his head to this man to whom he owes his life, but the pain and fog and shame are making him dizzy again.

"Tony?"

"I'm sorry, Boss," he says, wishing there was a more appropriate word, one that could convey just how deeply sorry he really is for all of his deception and lying. A word that his boss didn't hate. "And I know how you feel about apologies, but this is big. I never should have gone sneaking around behind your back. I don't know what I was thinking."

Gibbs lets out a long breath, hearing how upset Tony sounds—which is unnerving in itself because Tony never lets his emotions show—and he decides to go easy on him. "Hell, DiNozzo," he says, pausing, thinking. "What's important is that you stay safe. How are you holding up?"

Tony blinks in shock, wondering how Gibbs has gone from royally pissed off on what has to be a personal level to asking about the mission. He wonders how much Gibbs knows and why he's not demanding to be filled in immediately. _Must have talked to Jenny._

He feels a huge burden being lifted from his shoulders that he can talk to Gibbs, can lean on him if he needs to. It makes him realize just how hard these last few months have been. He flinches, thinking that as much as he hates lying to Jeanne, he's hated lying to his team more.

All the stress and uncertainty and anxiety pour out in his voice as he admits softly, "Not so good, Boss." _Please help me. _

Gibbs is seeing the bruises on Tony's pale face again and he says, "Understandable."

_Really? It's okay? _You_ would never let a mission go to hell like this. Why is it okay that I am?_

"You took a hell of a beating, Tony," Gibbs is saying. "It's a good thing that girlfriend of yours is a doctor."

_Girlfriend? Don't you mean mark, asset, assignment? _

"Yeah, DiNozzo, girlfriend," Gibbs says, amused, and Tony realizes he said that part out loud. "Believe me, it's as strange to us as it is to you. But I'm glad you found someone, Tony."

Gibbs decides to go for broke since it's not likely Tony will even remember this conversation in the morning. "You deserve to be happy," he says quietly.

Tony's breath catches in his throat and he closes his eyes, fighting nausea that has nothing to do with the knock to the head.

Gibbs hears the silence on the line and wonders if he should have kept his mouth shut. He knows Tony doesn't always do well with kindness—especially from him—and then there's that concussion to consider, too.

"Get some sleep," Gibbs says. "And you should let her take you to back to the hospital in the morning. She sounded worried." _And you sound like crap, but I guess that's understandable considering that you're probably in pain. Or on painkillers. But you haven't mentioned your fingers so maybe not. _

Tony tries to think, but he is mostly just stunned. _He doesn't know. He really doesn't know. _Tony is surprised by the wave of disappointment that crashes over him. _I thought it was over. It's not over. _His earlier fears come cropping up again at the thought of Gibbs' and Jeanne's conversation. _Just because he doesn't know doesn't mean she doesn't. _

Even DiNardo would have known how silly that was—if not for the major concussion and even greater major confusion at Gibbs' soft wish for him to be happy. That in itself was enough to make DiNozzo start questioning everything he thinks he knows.

He tries not to sound terrified and can't tell if he pulls it off over the roaring of the blood pounding through his skull. "What did she say? What did you say?" he says in a rush.

"Calm down, Tony," Gibbs says, wondering why Tony sounds so panicked—and trying to remember the last time his agent had sounded that way. He couldn't.

_How can I calm down? Did you say my name? Either of them? Wait, no. You know only one of them. _

_But did you say it? _

_And how the hell do I ask _that?

"But how did she sound?"

Gibbs smiles, amused as he thinks he understands Tony's panic. "She sounded fine, Tony. Not mad at you at all. Just worried. And I didn't rat you out on leaving the hospital even though I should have. Not your brightest moment, DiNozzo."

_You have no idea._

"But don't worry about it now. Rest. Let her doctor you."

"Yeah, okay," Tony says, his exhaustion catching up with him. He just wants the conversation to be over before he can ruin everything. _There's still time. _"Thanks, Boss."

He closes the phone and stares numbly at it, fairly certain he's done the impossible and escaped this hellish night unscathed.

He laughs bitterly at that thought, his soft chuckle driving shards of pain through his ribs.

_Unscathed. Yeah. You keep thinking that. _

He pries himself up off the floor and moves back into the bedroom, his eyes falling on Jeanne's pretty face as she sleeps. He fights the urge to just leave. But he knows he can't drive. He suppresses another half-hysterical giggle as he realizes he's trapped here.

In so many ways.

_Why did I even come here? _he wonders, leaning against the door frame, his eyes never leaving her closed ones.

_For comfort._

_Because I wasn't going to get it from anyone else. _

_Not Gibbs, because he's not capable—not with me anyway. Which is interesting because there was a time when I thought there wasn't anything he couldn't do. Physical, investigative Superman. Emotional cripple. _

_Not that I want him being nice to me. _

_It really does scare me._

_A lot._

_Take his simple words wishing me happiness. I think I'll get over the broken ribs before I even come close to recovering from that. _

_Ziva? Yeah, no. She's more likely to kill me with a paperclip than offer me comfort. She's half the reason I'm here and not lying in a drug-induced heaven in a hospital bed. Doesn't she see how badly I _want_ to answer her questions?_

_And then there's McGee, who would just make fun of me for screwing up my undercover op and tell me the thousand ways he would have done it better. And then possibly slap me in the face with taunts about my ability as a leader. _

_Abby? Yeah, she would be good to me. She always is. But she's too smart for me. She would talk me in knots in two seconds flat and then spill to Gibbs out of a misguided sense of duty. _

_But would it really be misguided? _

_And see where wanting comfort gets you?_

She stirs and opens those beautiful eyes, and he feels like turning away so she won't be able to see straight into his anguished soul. He closes his own because he suddenly can't stand to see the concern and affection—and love—in them.

"Come lie with me," she says, closing her eyes again.

He obeys, feeling his throat go tight as she gingerly wraps her body around his. She's asleep almost instantly, but it takes him much longer.

And when he finally does sleep, he dreams again of Kate.

But when he looks down at her lifeless body on that rooftop, he sees Jeanne's pretty face staring up at him.

He awakens with a start, but not a scream this time.

He feels wetness on his face.

_DiNozzos don't cry. _

_Do DiNardos? _


End file.
